A pin?

Note: I feel like since everyone here at work knows I'm leaving it's ok for me to blog about it. So here we go.

Today, as I sat quietly at my desk, reviewing yet another spreadsheet, some cheerful girl (never seen her before) comes bouncing up and very enthusiastically says, "Our organization has just ordered new pins for everyone!" (Note, I am not a dental hygienist, so it doesn't look like this one above). We have "new" pins? Did we have old ones? Did we need these pins in order to help reduce poverty around the globe? Apparently the answer to that is a resounding YES!

We're not talking about some kind of cheapo, political or "I heart DC" pin. We're talking gold plated, shiny, "I'm somebody (or am trying to convince myself that I am)" sort of pin. The reality is that the last time I wore a pin it was my sorority pin. Actually, maybe this is why people still have a fondness for pins...because they miss the "glory days" of sporting their sorority or fraternity pin. But I digress. But either way, this just isn't the same...this is the big leagues, boys.

Then another thought hit me. "Wow, so I guess our admin budget must not be oh-so-very tight, that we're ordering shiny, glossy pins for everyone to wear on their lapel. Huh. Well. Could have fooled me." I thought our admin budget was so tight that we weren't hiring people and they weren't replenishing our plastic forks. Interesting.

And so my cubemate (actually, my former boss, who is now a consultant here) and I just looked at each other and then at Miss Bubbly, rolled our eyes and tried to say something nice about our new logo, which is so much, much worse than our old logo (we had to add stars and stripes to show everyone that we're 1) American and 2) patriotic. I'm not kidding.) Cubemate ended up making a joke about asking whether or not Obama would wear one and what it would mean if he didn't. Ha ha, I said.

And then I became oh so very thankful. Now I'll finally fit in to the "pin wearing mafia" of Washington, DC. You're a nobody until you strategically place yourself in a specific group by the 1/2 inch lapel pin that you wear. These are the ones that matter:

*the state people (American flag and state flag of your choice or state logo)

*the "I like people to wonder if I'm a Member of Congress" people (circular pin that looks oddly "official".)

* the "I care about humanity angst-ridden youth who support their favorite cause on their tshirt" people (Note, these pins are never shiny or gold-plated. They're usually plastic. As they should be, given that their money and time is better spent on their cause of choice)

*the people who love their country (American flag ONLY), and who will judge every politician's -or human being really- patriotism on whether or not he or she wears a pin as well. We've all heard about THEM. And aren't they right?

So thank you, dear Employer, for finally giving me the thrill of placing a small hole in my coat or blouse and for allowing me to boldly proclaim my love for my work and my country with this new pin. I will never again be the same.

The pin is in.

(If only I could find where I threw it after Miss Bubbly walked away)

Weekend update

This weekend M and I headed to the hills o' Kentucky for some R&R and family visiting. Here are the highlights:

* Hitting 100,000 miles on the odometer
This is a happy, sad and scary moment all at once. 100,000 miles seems like a LOT of miles. But the SUV is a 1999...so that's not a lot, right? And then that stupid song "I would walk 500 miles" kept going over and over and over in my head.

* Eating a sit down dinner for two for $20
This DOES NOT happen in WDC. Trust me. I mean we're talking a full, sit-down meal. Wow.

* Visiting with my favorite grandparents
There are few people I love more than my grandparents. They are the most active, with it 80ish year olds that I know. I love being with them. I love talking politics with them. I just love them. Period.

* Boating and swimming on Yatesville lake
"Boating" makes it sound sort of like "yachting", which it wasn't. But man, it was good. Though it's really weird to me how there would be sections of really warm water, then sections of really cold water. And I don't think it's because M was peeing.

* Continuing to peel from our trip to FL
How long should I expect my skin to fall off???? Seriously! I even exfoliated a lot last night thinking it would help. It most definitely made it worse.

* Picking fresh asparagus and strawberries in Grandpa's garden
Man, seeing the bounty of Grandpa's garden reminds me, again, that we need a garden. Broccoli, potatoes, asparagus, strawberries, onions, lettuce (which, by the way, looks like it's just been thrown on the ground when it grows), grapes, gooseberries, zucchini, tomatoes, corn, etc etc....I would save over $200 a month if I grew my own fruits and vegetables. Geez.

* Aunt S's new house
We'll grow that garden, mentioned above, when we buy a house, and I love Aunt S's new one. The only problem is that I get severely depressed when I think about what we could afford "Not in DC" (or Chicago, for that matter). Yippeee!

* Slowing down. Finally.
May has been a crazy month, and after a hectic week (and a projected hectic week to come), sitting on the back porch, reading about FDR and eating fresh-picked strawberries really can't be beat.

Our form of "protesting"

If you're lucky enough to be like M or me (oh so lucky), you would work right near the White House and spend most of your lunches on pretty days sitting in Lafayette Square, outside the White House. You would also see at least two protests a day (if you consider a woman in a tent a protest, then maybe three), ranging from things I don't understand to things I do.





Today, as M and I walked around the park and down Pennsylvania Avenue, we came up with a BRILLIANT plan as we heard and saw about ten people holding a big banner about something or another and using a megaphone to yell "Obama stop the Tamil people slaughter" (for more on that, read up on the civil war in Sri Lanka. Messy, horrible stuff)



So here's our idea.

A few clarifications first. One, it will look nothing like the picture above. Two, it will most likely be only the two of us. We'll need to borrow a megaphone from someone, if you know anyone. Then, we'll make a big sign and on it....we'll draw a big brick house. And we'll make another sign, and on it we're going to write "OBAMA-- CAN WE RENT YOUR HOUSE IN HYDE PARK?" Then we'll stand there, chanting over and over and over and over again phrases such as "we need a house in Hyde Park, you're not using yours" and "We'll take really good care and clean up after ourselves" and "The lower the rent the happier we'll be!" We might even cry or get emotional, too (depending on how much of a crowd we draw). Every time someone walks out of the White House, even though we know it's not the President, we'll yell even louder.

I mean it works for the other protestors, right?

If you want to join us, just let us know. We'll be planning it for one of the hottest mid-afternoons in July or August.

Overheard: That's not natural

I've got to give props to Obama's joke about John Boehner and his...um....surely very, very natural tan. He just likes being outdoors, ok? Outdoors in his tanning bed.


From CNN: At the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner a week ago, the country’s first African-American president said he had “a lot in common” with Boehner who is Caucasian. “He is a person of color,” Obama joked before a massive ballroom of celebrities and Washington journalists. “Although not a color that appears in the natural world,” Obama added, barely able to keep his composure as he delivered the dig.

Chicago Arts and Culture: Hot dog!

You've heard of the famous Chicago pizza. But what about the...hot dog?! Here, the brief story of what makes a Chicago dog so different.

In 1893 the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago first served Vienna beef frankfurters, the most often served hot dog today. The frankfurter is most often boiled or steamed and, sometimes, grilled (called a char-dog). According to Wikipedia, the dog weighs approximately 1/8 of a pound. But it's not just the "all beef" that makes a Chicago hot dog different. It's the toppings...and you sure as heck better not ask for ketchup.

* poppy seed hot dog bun
* yellow mustard
* raw chopped white onion
* bright green relish
* tomato wedges
* kosher dill pickle spear
* dash of celery salt (this is really, really good. I promise.)

Also according to Wikipedia, Chicago has more hot dog restaurants than McDonald's, Wendy's and Burger King combined. The most famous hot dog restaurants are Superdawg (often featured on Food Network...think dancing hot dogs on the roof), Fluky's, Portillo's and Gene & Jude's (to name only a few).

I need to go find me a hot dog now...

Overheard: Airplanes

Let me start with this disclaimer: I don't want to be that jerk that complains about the kid that always ends up sitting behind me on an airplane and kicks my seat constantly. Because everyone knows that I really love kids, and we hope to have a brood of our own one day. But seriously...let's work on children not kicking things in general, unless it's a ball.

Anyhow...

On our way back from Chicago a few weeks ago, this little girl and her mother were seated behind me. Cute kid. Horribly behaved. It was an interesting ride, to say the least. I'll tell you more about it later.

As the plane was getting ready to land, the stewardess passed through the cabin one more time to pick up any more trash. Suddenly, in a VERY loud voice, I hear from behind me:

HEY GARBAGE LADY!!!!!

The little girl behind me, in the hopes of getting the attention of the stewardess is yelling at her. Her mother, mortified that she just called the stewardess "garbage lady" is doing one of those "whispering but really loud because you're mad" sort of things about how you don't call people "garbage lady" (note: wouldn't you, though, if they were in fact a garbage lady?)

I died laughing.

Chicago Arts and Culture: Darn it feels good to be a Gangsta

The times and tribulations of Al Capone and Bugs Moran

Al Capone was born in Brooklyn, New York to Italian immigrants, the fourth child of eight. From a relatively early age, Capone became involved in the gang life of Brooklyn and New York (5 Points Gang, Brooklyn Rippers, Junior Forty Thieves), and worked as both a bouncer and a bartender at local night clubs. It was while serving as a bouncer that Capone apparently “inadvertently insulted a woman” whose brother then slashed Capone’s face (Note: do not mess with girls who have big brothers). From then on, Al became known as Scarface.

Bugs Moran was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, of Polish-Irish descent (you’ve probably heard more about his Irish ancestry). Like Capone, Moran became involved in street crime at an early age; he was reportedly incarcerated three times before he turned 21. At the age of 19, Moran moved to the North Side of Chicago, where he began to work his way up the hierarchy of the North Side Gang. Moran received the name “Bugs” – slang for “crazy”- because he apparently had a horrible temper and was just a little bit off his rocker. Really?

Prohibition

On January 29, 1919, the ratification of the 18th amendment was certified, prohibiting the production and distribution of all alcohol…except that used for religious purposes. One year later, Prohibition went into effect. It was during this time that Capone and his mentor Johnny Torio moved to the South Side of Chicago, forming the South Side Gang (the names are very creative) and quickly became involved in the bootlegging empire of Chicago. Without going into too much detail, frequent skirmishes between the South Side Gang, North Side Gang (also big into bootlegging) and others were frequent to say the least, and a major turf war erupted between Moran and Capone. Moran, apparently believing himself to be a “better Catholic” than Capone because he did not engage in prostitution (Capone was both a bootlegger and the head of a prostitution ring…he did have syphilis, after all). Various attempts were made on each others lives, usually involving the death of at least a couple personal friends and/or security guards, but the two miraculously kept each other from killing the other.

Valentine’s Day

On February 14, 1929, six members of Moran’s gang- and one other dude- were in a garage in Lincoln Park (the North Side of Chicago) when the men were confronted by 4-6 other men, two dressed as Chicago policemen. I won’t go into the gory details, but it’s pretty darn gross, to say the least. While it’s still unclear as to whether or not all of the men were directly connected with the South Side gang (Moran was in the middle of hijacking Capone’s Detroit bootlegging business), it’s generally believed that Capone either orchestrated or directly led what would end in the slaughter of all seven men, one apparently misidentified by the killers as Moran himself (that had been the plan after all…kill the leader). Where Moran actually was depends on who you ask.

The End

It was following the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre that the federal government finally clued in on the illegal behavior of Capone; the Massacre also produced an outrage among the citizens of Chicago unlike criminal activity before. The Massacre also made a major dent in the power and strength of the Northside Gang, a dent which some claim they never recovered from.

By 1931, Capone had been arrested on income tax evasion and was sentenced to 11 years in prison. In prison (including a stint at Alcatraz), Capone’s health continued to deteriorate (syphilis is not a friend to the human body), and Capone was apparently often heard ranting about “Communists, foreigners and Bugs Moran.” Capone had a stroke in late January 1947, followed by pneumonia, followed by cardiac arrest; Capone finally passed away on January 25, 1947.

Moran himself was eventually eliminated from gang life in Chicago (apparently he wasn’t a very smart guy, and some say he was his own biggest problem), and spent his remaining years in and out of prison with little to no money. Finally dying from lung cancer in 1957, he was buried in the prison cemetery with approximately $100 to his name.